Big Dick Energy - Cindi Madsen Page 0,29
screws loose, and then said, “Anyway, so thanks again.”
“Mind your feet.” I closed the passenger car door, rounded the hood, and settled in behind the steering wheel. She continued giving me the same utterly confused expression.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting you home safely.”
“But you don’t know where I live.”
“I sorta hoped you’d give me the address, but I’m willing to drive around the city until I randomly come across it if that’s what it takes.”
“What about your car?”
“I already know where it’s parked.”
She shoved my arm, and I laughed. Then cringed. Stupid split lip.
“I appreciate you getting me to my car, but I don’t want you to have to go to all the trouble of dropping me off and then finding a ride back. I can make my way home.”
“You’re injured, and I’d rather not be responsible for everyone you’d run into when you were too scared to hit the gas or the brakes as hard as you need to.”
“Scared?”
Would it kill her to get through one conversation without arguing? Determined not to let my impatient nature get the best of me, I pushed the button to start the car. “Fine, too hurt. Is that better?”
She didn’t answer but reached for her seatbelt and secured it, so I took that as a yes. Then she rattled off a location I vaguely recognized. I unlocked my phone and tossed it in her lap. “Just put the address in there. I trust Siri’s sense direction over yours, considering you don’t know north from south.”
“That’s interesting coming from someone who talks out of his ass instead of his mouth.” Within a few seconds, the electronic voice told me where to go. I punched the gas and headed into the heart of the city.
“How long have you lived in San Diego?” she asked.
“Which time?” Without waiting for her to clarify, I said, “My dad’s in L.A., and my mom moved here after their divorce. So starting around thirteen, I spent a month here during the summer and a couple of weeks around the holidays. I consider L.A. home, but San Diego’s always been my second home.”
“Oh. When Mr. Bishop mentioned he was calling in reinforcements…” She shook her head. “I didn’t realize he needed someone from over two hours away to come help.”
“I was going to be in town for at least this month anyway, so it worked out. But if that’s your way of offering to show me around…”
She laughed, and this time I gave her arm a shove, gentle enough it was more like a nudge. “You don’t have to laugh quite so hard.” Minding my lip, I cast another half-smile her way. The lights lining the freeway and coming from nearby cars sent stripes of color across her skin, highlighting her different features. The apples of her cheeks and the way they popped along with her smile. The beauty mark above her eyebrow.
The car interior smelled like her. Along with the floral scent I’d caught the other day, I swore I caught a hint of pears. Whatever it was, it left me wanting to devour her, and come to think of it, Izzie had chosen the perfect night to give me extra time to burn.
The ride to her apartment complex In Mission Valley flew right by. I rushed out of the car, sure she’d be stubborn about accepting my help. Sure enough, two creases formed between her eyebrows as I helped her out of the passenger side of the car.
“Before you start,” I said, sweeping her into my arms. “I’m walking you all the way into your apartment, where I’ll also be getting ice for your ankle.”
“My place is a mess, and that’s totally unnecessary.”
“I don’t care, and I disagree. Something I find I like doing with you more than I should.”
Whatever she’d planned to say died on her lips. I gently nudged her car door closed with the toe of my shoe and carried her into the apartment complex. We rode to the second floor, and I stopped in front of apartment 207 so she could dig out her keys.
Once inside, I walked toward the pillow and blanket covered sofa and slowly lowered Penelope onto the cushions. “I’m gonna take a wild guess that ice is in the freezer.”
“I guess that’s why you make the big bucks.”
That brought to mind the rant Izzie had gone on the other night, but comparing salaries seemed not only like a social faux pas, but a bad idea. I rummaged around the small but tidy